


Autumn is so beautiful yet everything is dying

by villannelle



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Extramarital Affairs, F/F, moira is the one that turns amelie into widowmaker in this, obviously cheating, s4dn3ss TM, there may be some moicy i dont know yet, there'll be a lil angelie as you can tell but mostly mercymaker, this is gonna be a long and weird ride so get ready
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-31
Updated: 2018-03-05
Packaged: 2019-02-24 08:48:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 22,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13210209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/villannelle/pseuds/villannelle
Summary: After your usual morning preparations you’re ready to head out and get inside your car, heading directly to the Overwatch headquarters. This is the last time Gérard’s gotten away with leaving you hanging without having to face any kind of consequences.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm still not sure how this is gonna develop; I dont want to dig too much into the whole Angelie thing but I feel I have to preface how I think their relationship used to be before getting into writting mercymaker. There will be a few time skips between chapters so strap in and I hope you enjoy!!!!

There’s barely 15 minutes left until it’s time for you to get on stage, and as usual there’s absolutely no hint of Gérard’s presence anywhere in the theatre.

One of the dancers that will be performing with you tonight approaches you right when your hand slams the phone it was holding into the dressing table in front of you; a hint for him to, for his own good, turn around and leave. Luckily the guy takes the chance to do so, judging by the sound of his footsteps moving away. No matter how important what he was about to tell you was, that to you seems like the most intelligent decision he could make right now. It’s never been a problem for you to put up a front with empty smiles and reassuring gestures when necessary, but after years of working together everyone in the dance academy knows about your temper. The way your back tenses when you see something you don’t like, or the look in your eyes when someone says something that you decide is in poor taste… small hints that would be overlooked by the average person but absolutely feared by anyone that knows you enough. Everyone in the academy knows to not to get in your way when you’re angry.

And, oh boy, are you angry right now.

With or without the presence of your husband in the public you have work to do, and so after retouching your makeup in the mirror in front of you and without taking a second look at your phone you stand up, moving your chair backwards and making a couple heads turn towards the annoying sound it causes. Two hands tug at your corset to help put it in place as you move towards the stage and for a moment, once you hear the nervous buzz of the dancer’s voices behind you, you ask yourself if Duke Albrecht would ever leave Giselle alone in such an important moment the way Gérard has done so many times.

\- - -

When you wake up the next day, you do it alone. The sun that hits you from one of the big windows in your bedroom’s walls, even through the curtains, is more than enough to make you want to get away from the white silky sheets that have been keeping you warm through the night. There’s a weird sense of calm that comes from not having your husband running around and screaming at his phone at this early hour, you think. It used to feel comforting and relaxing, knowing that every morning you could count with hearing his voice even if he was yelling at someone on the phone for not doing their job, but now you find yourself enjoying these moments of silence. You can’t say, however, that you enjoy this consistent routine of waking up alone.

Tilting your head to the side you stare for a moment at your left hand that now rests peacefully, palm up, on top of your pillow. The sun draws yellowish bright lines on it which move as the wind slightly shakes one of the curtains. The ironic contrast between this peaceful moment and what you’re about to do is enough to make you smile out of nowhere, and it somehow also gives you the energy you need to finally get up and get dressed.

After your usual morning preparations you’re ready to head out and get inside your car, heading directly to the Overwatch headquarters. This is the last time Gérard’s gotten away with leaving you hanging without having to face any kind of consequences.

* * *

You’re not too sure what time it is exactly, but judging by the amount of people that are already walking in and out of the Overwatch headquarters you assume it’s too soon for you to be here and too late for you to still be awake. You haven’t gotten any sleep, maybe just a couple of minutes which were spent sprawled on your desk after the weariness of the night’s work took too much of a toll on your already fatigued body. Luckily everyone is more than used to the bags under your eyes and no one questions you when they walk past you in the hallway.

A couple of smiles and polite “hello”s later you are close enough to the cafeteria to smell the amazing scent of freshly brewed coffee. You take a deep breath, desperate to get a cup of that glorious liquid that manages to help you function more or less like a healthy person even if you don’t take enough care of yourself to even qualify as one. The smell is so intense you can almost taste it, but as you walk almost like a zombie to your destination, a loud mix of voices makes you stop in your tracks and turn around.  
“Miss, I’ve already told you, you can’t go in there! Security please!”

Surely right after hearing that sentence a tall woman turns the corner you just turned to face, and now storms right by your side. There’s nothing you can do aside from turn around to look at her, when a security guard steps in her way to stop her. He doesn’t grab her in any moment, probably because she’s a woman (the thought makes you mentally roll your eyes), he just puts his hands in front of her as if he was surrendering as she now screams at him and puts her finger on his chest, demanding. You can see the tall, buff guard open and close his mouth letting out just some unintelligible sounds, clearly caught off guard by the aggressive behavior of the woman. You can’t blame him; she just walked in here like she owns the place and it doesn’t seem like anything is going to convince her to leave without getting what she wants first. And, clearly, putting your hands on her sounds like a terrible idea seeing how she’s reacted so far to just words. The guard seems to get to the same conclusion as you. He glances at you over the stranger’s shoulder, and you can see the panic and terror in his eyes. He seems new, and it wouldn’t surprise you if he was: lately a lot of members have left Overwatch since there’s been a bit of controversy about its way of approaching conflicts as well as its kind of questionable morals, and this has sparked a need to hire new crew members since the less sympathetic ones left when right when the controversy started.

There’s something in the kid’s eyes that reminds you of the day you joined Overwatch, and how nervous and worried you were you would make a fool of yourself. You would’ve appreciated a helping hand in a moment of need, so you decide this will be your good action of the day. This better work on your favor in the future; whilst you dedicate a lot of your time to charity work this is not exactly what you have in mind when you think of your responsabilities.

“Good morning. Can I help you with something?” You try to give the stranger your best smile, although the lack of sleep and coffee combined aren’t helping you too much. She immediately turns her head towards you, although not her body, and runs her eyes up and down your figure. For a moment you feel exposed, and you need to look down at yourself to make sure you remembered to put on clothes this morning. When you look up the woman is now completely facing you and the guard just stands behind her, looking at you almost with pity, like you’re about to be murdered.

“You tell me.” She says in a thick, gorgeous French accent. You are immediately lured in by it as well as by her bright hazel-almost-yellow eyes, which are framed by thin eyebrows now curved in a frown. “I’m trying to speak to my husband but apparently that’s too much to ask for. I don’t care what you’re hiding in here, I’m not interested.” She says, raising her hand to silence the man behind her once he opens his mouth, probably trying to explain to her why she can’t simply walk into the headquarters whenever she pleases. You wonder how she saw his intentions without even turning around, and by the look on the guard’s face you can tell he’s wondering the same thing. His facial expression makes you smile.

“That’s understandable.” You say still looking at him, who glances back at you as if asking which side you’re on. You shrug. “I guess there’s no problem if…”

“Amèlie.” She answers upon realizing you were waiting for her name.

“If Amèlie wants to talk to…”

“Gérard.”

You raise your eyebrows. So this is Gérard’s wife… the one he never shuts up about. You always thought the agent was exaggerating when he mentioned how beautiful she was, but now that you have her in front of you, maybe he was falling short. Her warm eyes pierce you as she waits for you to continue talking, but you need a second to do so.

“Gérard. Right. Listen, I’ll look after her, okay?” You tell the guard, who seems happy he has a chance to simply step away from the situation and silently agrees.

For a moment you wonder… what did you just get yourself into? You were about to get a cup of coffee and all of a sudden you’re in charge of an angry French woman that’s asking to go see one of the most important agents of the organization, who is probably way too busy to attend any of you. Luckily you don’t have much time to think about it since Amélie decides to break the silence.

“It takes a woman to do something around here, I see.”

“It takes a woman to do something anywhere, if you ask me.” You reply under your breath, trying (or pretending to try) to avoid being heard. Your words make Amélie giggle, bringing the back of her hand to her lips and looking down in a modest gesture. Everything she does seems effortless and elegant in equal parts. You wonder how that’s possible.

With a movement of your head you invite her to walk next to you and then lead the way towards the receptionist’s desk, where the man behind the counter scolds Amélie with his eyes. She doesn’t seem fazed by this gesture and simply looks around while playing with a strand of her hair.

“Morning.” You tell him with yet another attempt at a smile, trying to lighten the mood.

“Good morning miss Ziegler.” He replies, slowly peeling his intense stare off of Amélie and looking at you. “Can I help you?”

“Yes, could you tell me where’s Gérard supposed to be right now? It’s pretty urgent.”

The man on the other side of the desk nods for a moment and puts on the glasses that were hanging from his neck, typing on the computer with the speed of someone who’s spent years in front of one. While waiting your sight wanders off to your side where Amèlie is standing, glowing in her black suit that fits her like a glove. The tube skirt she’s wearing reaches her knees and has a small slit on the back, which has tucked in the ends of a purple silky blouse that covers the top of her body. And on top of that she’s wearing a black jacket suit over her shoulders, although she hasn’t put on her sleeves. She looks extremely glamourous, and not only because of her clothes; the way she stands, the way she looks at you (now that she’s more relaxed there’s a kinder side to her gaze) making you feel you owe her something. Amèlie has a special aura that makes you think there’s a private side of her you’d love to get to. You doubt you’ll have the chance to do so.

On the other hand, you’re wearing black sweatpants that kind of look like they could be a little bit formal when you match them with your white coat, stained with coffee on one sleeve and on the chest. You’re also wearing a pair of orange crocs which, despite of having been shamed multiple times by your close friends, you refuse to throw away. They are incredibly comfortable, and you’ve never had a special interest in fancy clothing. Although looking at your bent and disheveled figure next to Amèlie’s elegant and proud stand, you wish you had, at least, put on fresh clothes this morning. In a futile attempt to look more composed you straighten your back.

“If he’s where he’s supposed to, Gérard should be over at office 13 on the third floor.” The receptionist says, looking at you once again now from over his glasses. You quickly turn your head towards him and raise your eyebrows, confused for a split second since you were so deep into your own daydream, but quickly you manage a smile and a nod.

“Thank you so much. Let’s go.” You tell Amèlie, who nods towards the other man in a silent ‘thanks’ and immediately follows you.

There’s not a long way to office 13, at least it wouldn’t seem long in a normal day, but now that you’re accompanied by your colleague’s wife and both of you are surrounded by an uncomfortable silence, it feels like you’re years away from your destination. Luckily Amèlie talks first.

“You never told me your name, Madame Ziegler.”

It hadn’t even crossed your mind that you still hadn’t shared your name with the woman. Wait, but how does she know your last...? You remember the receptionist’s greeting when you approached him.

“Oh. I’m sorry, I’m Ángela.” You say with another smile, gesturing with your hand for a moment before speaking again. “And I’m afraid it’d have to be Mademoiselle Ziegler… Not that I want to be called that… I’m just-. Ángela is fine.” You really need to get some more social interaction outside of work. Amèlie’s expression seems impressed.

“Great pronunciation. Tu parles français?”

“Juste un peu.”

She smiles. It makes you smile, too.

“What an interest woman you seem to be, Ángela.” The French begins, looking in front of her but continuously throwing short glances towards you along the way. “You got me out of quite the situation back there. Thank you. I know I didn’t show the best manners and for that I apologize, but I’m not in the best mindset right now. I hope I didn’t scare you or make a terrible first impression.”

“Of course not, you’d be surprised to know about half of what we have to see around here.” You try to make light of the situation. “That was nothing.” You reassure her with a nod and Amèlie gratefully smiles at you again.

“By the way, if you don’t mind me asking…” You continue, pressing the elevator button five times in a row. “What did Gérard do to get you so worked up? You seem really calm now, but it must be something big to have you acting like that back there.”

“It’s a long story.” It doesn’t seem like she wants to talk about it, but even without you pressing the matter she ends up doing so. “I’m a dancer, I do ballet, and he’s missed my last four performances because of work. I could understand it the first time, I could understand it the second. Hell, I can even let it slide for a third time. But this is too much. I moved here for him, I left everything I had back in France so he could be happy and there’s just no payback and I’m so tired of…”

You’ve both gotten into the elevator, and Amèlie’s violent gesticulation has stopped suddenly when she apparently notices she’s been sharing a little too much. Her gaze moves towards you while one of her hands moves a strand of loose hair behind her ear. You follow the movement of her fingers unconsciously; even that small gesture makes you want to stare at her.

“I’m sorry, I’m ranting I just… I haven’t told anyone about this. I don’t really have any friends here and it’s pretty hard meeting people at my age.”

“Don’t apologize, it’s okay. Gérard’s an asshole for missing your performance anyway…” You open your eyes in shock for a moment after noticing you just called Amèlie’s husband an asshole in front of her. Of course you don’t mean it, he’s actually a funny guy and you like him, but it feels like that’s what you’re supposed to say in this kind of situation. But you don’t think there’s enough confidence between you two to cross that line. Amèlie seems to notice the expression on your face, because she moves her hand in a dismissive way.

“Don’t worry about it. He is, indeed, an asshole.”

You smile at her, still a little shy. She smiles back and you feel more confident.

“I’ve never been to the ballet before.”

“Is it a lack of interest, or of time?”

“Both?” You just said you’re not interested in what this woman does for a living. “I mean, it’s not that it isn’t interesting, it’s just…”

“I know, I know.” She saves you once again. “People are very skeptical about it. Maybe you could come see me sometime, I can get you free tickets on the front row. If you have the time, of course.”

“I’d like that.” You reply immediately, having no choice but to look at her since you’re both alone in the small elevator that’s taking you to the third floor. “Thank you.” Why do you feel so flustered all of a sudden? You need to tug at the collar of your shirt to try and get some air in. The air feels thick in your lungs right now.

“No problem, it’s the least I could you after you decided to help me.” She replies. “I have way too many free tickets per performance anyway, and my husband clearly doesn’t seem interested in showing up to something her wife is invested in, so... Men, right?” Amèlie adds the last words while rolling her eyes.

“Yeah, I know.” You don’t know. Now, women? That’s a different story. Of course Amèlie is not interested in that, why would she be? So you just play along and let it pass like any other innocent comment.

“So, does this mean we are friends?”

“Friends?” You ask with a chuckle. Coming from a woman her age, the comment seems almost childish. The whole concept of ‘friendship’ seems pretty childish when you think about it, something you tell kids so they get along, but when you grow up there’s simply people you get along with and people you don’t like.

It’s a weird thing to put that kind of labels to your relationships past certain age, but since Amèlie has told you about her lack of friendships you feel like this is important for her. So you nod.

“Sure.”

Your answer makes her chuckle as well. You’re glad.

Now that you look up from your own feet you see Amèlie’s expression, who is looking in front of her with that kind of ‘leftover’ smile that stays in your face after you just laughed. The sight of it makes you heart skip a beat and you need to look away immediately when you feel the heat reach your cheeks. This woman simply invited you to a ballet performance, asked to be your friend and after ten minutes of speaking with her you already find yourself blushing at her comments. This doesn’t happen often for you.

For some reason you feel you’re about to get in big trouble.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a LONG ONE BOYS, STRAP IN!!!!!!!!!!  
> Also like 75% of this was taken out of a mercymaker rp i had with my girlfriend :_

The encounter Amélie and you had with Gérard didn’t end exactly how you predicted.

There were a few minutes of yelling and apologizing between the French couple; all of the yelling being done by Amélie and all the apologizing being done by Gérard, to be precise. However, the conversation ended up unexpectedly turning towards you since after all you were the person that took Amélie to her husband, and being the center of attention during a marital argument isn’t what you’d qualify as a great experience. That’s why when you were given the chance to skip the rest of the discussion by giving Amélie a tour of the facilities, you were more than happy to accept.

And that’s how you spent the rest of the day; the actual tour only took around an hour since Amélie didn’t seem all that interested in most of what the Overwatch headquarters had to offer. The remaining couple of hours were spent in the cafeteria with you hiding behind a cup of coffee (finally) and Amélie enjoying some yellow tea, which after some conversation you now know it is her favorite.

This is not the last time Amélie and you spend the day together. After a couple hours of laughs and carefree conversation you decide to meet again soon; she’ll let you know when. Not knowing when the next time will be the next few days you find yourself going to the cafeteria way more often than usually just to walk past the entrance as many times as possible, hoping to get a glimpse of Amélie’s figure.

You had fun spending time with her the first day you met, and even if it may be too soon to say so, you feel there was a connection between you two you haven’t felt with anyone else in a very long time. Friendship is hard to come by at your age, and when just a week after your first encounter you see Amélie waiting for you at the cafeteria, glancing over at you once she notices you have entered the room and giving you one of those soft gorgeous smiles of her, your heart jumps in your chest. You smile back at her and sit on the same table, a warm cup of coffee already waiting for you, and an equally warm feeling running through your body at the familiarity of the situation.

***

Your relationship with Doctor Ziegler started innocently enough. Sharing personal experiences while sitting in front of each other, letting Angela show you her laboratory… For the first time in many years you feel you have a real friend, a confident, something Gérard used to be for you before work became too much and took your husband away. You miss having that kind of connection with someone, it’s almost unbearable, and your low tolerance for stupidity and lack of interest in most people for sure hasn’t helped your case.  
Finally being able to have a pleasing conversation with someone feels really refreshing. You find yourself visiting the doctor once a week, then twice a week, then every other day. Even when you’re home you can’t help mentioning her to Gérard while you’re having dinner or while laying in bed reading together.

Your husband also asks you about her quite often; he seems quite pleased you found someone to talk to besides him. You never managed to fit in Switzerland as well as Gérard; he is good with words and people like him. You however are good at pretending you are interested in what people are talking about, but can’t usually say you’re actually having fun with a conversation. It’s difficult for you to connect with people so far from home; reason why your relationship with Angela means so much to you. Your friendship makes you feel a little closer to France thanks to the almost palpable familiarity in the air every time you both spend time together.

Despite said innocent beginning of your relationship, things quickly started changing between Angela and you. You decided to start spending time in more private spaces, like her laboratory, instead of going to the cafeteria. Smiles and laughs turned into tender touches and hand holding, and even if it would seem like yours was simply caring friendship, both of you felt the need to hide its intimacy from the rest of the world. That’s not something that happens with normal friendships, is it?

You find yourself starting to worry when Gérard asks you about Angela. It’s even lead to a couple fights, but you quickly make up. Now that you have someone else to share your feelings with, Gérard’s absence at home doesn’t bother you as much as before.

But you still take every chance you get to remind him that on the 16th of April, just a couple weeks from now, you’ll be performing as the protagonist on a new rendition of the ballet Cinderella. You’ve been reminding Gérard for the past month and a half, and every single time he has told you he hasn’t forgotten. Even now as you remind him for the one hundredth time, he takes your hands in his, kisses your knuckles, and promises you he will be there. You want to believe him. You try to.

You also suggest you may invite someone else to the performance, and without giving it a second thought your husband (probably assuming you’re talking about Angela, he would be right) tells you that’s a good idea and kisses your forehead goodnight before going to sleep. You turn of your nightstands light and go to bed as well.

\---

You let hours go by the next day when you meet up with Angela before even mentioning the ballet to her. You’re not nervous about telling her; you know she’ll be happy to come. That’s the slightly worrying part somehow.

“Do you know what Cinderella is?” You suddenly ask her, resting against the big desk on her laboratory as the blonde frantically writes something in a piece of paper. Since you started spending so much time together sometimes Angela just has to start working while you hang out. You have no problem with that, since she always finds time for you anyway.

“Cinderella?” The question seems to catch her off guard. She looks up at you for a moment, and then adjusts her glasses and just keeps writing. “Yeah.” She mutters mindlessly, already used to the mysterious ways you have of approaching new subjects. “It’s that old fairytale. It was written… what, almost 200 years ago? Why do you ask?”  
“Did you know it was written by a French man?”

Angela looks up again, this time without moving her head, and after a couple seconds decides to take off her glasses and put them on the table. She crosses her fingers and rests both arms on the table now tilting her head backwards to look up at you. A smile creeps on your face. Now you have exactly what you wanted; her full attention.

“No, I didn’t know.”

“Charles Perrault. That was his name.”

“Okay, and what does Charles have to do with anything?”

“Always straight to the point, huh? Way to ruin the magic.” You sigh, moving away from the table to face Angela. Since there are no chairs around you need to slightly crouch in front of her, your pencil skirt slightly climbing up your legs. “There’s a ballet rendition of Cinderella and it’s going to be performed in the Theater Basel a couple weeks from now, with me as the protagonist. I’d like you to come.”

Your hands have come to rest on the armrests at both sides of Angela, and now you look into her eyes waiting for an answer. You were expecting maybe a nervous laugh, an encouraging nod… anything except the conflicted stare the woman gives you, slightly open-mouthed but not letting a sound escape her lips. Since it doesn’t look like she’s going to give you an answer any time soon, you decide to break the silence yourself.

“You don’t have to come if you don’t want to.”

“No, no. Of course I want to come Amélie, I’d love to. It’s just… who else will be there?”

“Well, if everything goes well, the 600 people the theatre can hold-“

“No.” She cuts you mid-sentence. “I mean, who else have you invited?”

“Just Gérard.”

She moves a hand to the back of her neck and scratches the lower part of her hair.

“And is that okay by you? Just… me and your husband?”

“Is there anything weird about it?” You ask, now being the one confused with this situation. By the way the doctor is speaking it would seem like Angela and you are doing something that makes it weird for her and Gérard to be in the same room together. And that’s not the case.

“No, I guess not.” She replies, and you can get a glimpse of something that looks slightly like disappointment in her eyes, like she wanted you to say something different, before her lips turn into a tight smile and she taps her own thighs with her hands. “Guess I’ll have to go dust off my one and only elegant dress, right?”

You don’t know if you should tell her about that short moment you two just shared, or if you should just ignore the meaning behind the words you just exchanged and keep going with the conversation. Well, to be honest you know what you should do, you’re just debating if you want to acknowledge something like that and make things weird between Angela and you. Finally you decide it’s better to pretend nothing happened and smile back at her.

“Right.” You reply grabbing both of her hands and standing, making her get up as well. “I could always lend you something, you know? I have a couple dresses I know would fit you like a glove.”

“You know there’s no way I would look good in a dress of yours.” Angela replies with a short laugh, looking down at her own feet like she does when she feels embarrassed about something.

You move your hand to her chin and softly grab it with two of your fingers. You only have to guide her head up a little to make her look at you, her expression as confused as red are her cheeks.

“That’s simply not possible. You would look amazing in anything Madame Ziegler.” Those are the last words you say before slightly squeezing her cheeks and run your hands down her arms until you can grab hers, slightly squeezing them before letting go.

“16th of April. At 9:00PM, don’t be late.” You’re already turning around when you add this last part, walking towards the exit of the room. “I will come by tomorrow to give you your invitation, I hope there’ll be some yellow tea and information about your wardrobe for the event waiting for me.”

Before she can give you any kind of answer you leave the doctor’s laboratory, looking at your wristwatch and clicking your heels along the long corridor ahead of you. You already know this place like the back of your hand, and no one questions your presence when you say goodbye and leave the facility altogether heading back to your apartment.

***

That date you had carefully marked in red in your calendar arrives sooner than you expected, and it’s time to confront the mirror and get ready for the night’s main event; Amèlie’s ballet performance.

You’re wearing a long black dress with a sweetheart neckline that hugs your waist and hips perfectly. You don’t even remember when or why you bought it, but you mentally thank whatever deity made it appear in your closet for the occasion. You have been thinking non-stop about this night for the last couple weeks, but it wasn’t until yesterday that you realized you had to wear something at least slightly formal. Luckily over the years you have managed to gather a small collection of formal dresses that have been catching dust on your closet since the one and only time you’ve worn each one of them.

You appear at the doors of the theater ten minutes before the doors are even open, victim of the unsettling feeling that something is bound to go wrong tonight. As much as you have been trying for the last days you can’t seem to shake of that feeling that something’s not right between you and Amèlie. Of course you enjoy her company, and you’d like to think she enjoys yours, but even though your encounters have been nothing more than friendly for the months you’ve known each other, lately you’ve found yourself unable to look at Gérard in the eyes when you walk past each other on the corridors, or when he asks you about your meetings with his wife.

There’s nothing wrong, you tell yourself. You’re not doing anything wrong. What you’re feeling and what you’re thinking every time you look at Amèlie’s fierce and always calculated smile, at the way her long fingers run through her soft raven-haired locks, at her bright brown gorgeous eyes that always seem to ask you for more, no matter what you say or do, they always seem to want more, more… as long as you don’t act upon it, as long as you don’t say anything out loud, you can keep pretending none of it is real.

The sound of the big theater doors opening in front of you helps you escape the daydream you were so immersed in, and you realize you haven’t even looked for Gérard in this whole time. You look around, people already barging into the premises, but ultimately decide to get in as well. You have a reserved seat on the front row, but for some reason you’re still scared you won’t fit in if you stay outside for too long. Probably because of this unshakable thought that something’s going to go wrong tonight, once again.  
Seeing as you’ve never set foot in this theater before, there was a part of you that wanted to investigate using the Internet and find every single picture of its interior, as to not be caught off guard when going in. This is something you used to do when you were younger and way more socially insecure, since the unknown used to scare you to no limit. Luckily you’ve managed to stop yourself and realize that you abandoned that insecure anxiety filled teenage phase long ago. Which is why when you go into the theatre with absolutely no expectations, you found yourself stunned by how big and beautiful it actually is.

There must be, at least, two thousand seats as far as you can tell, arranged in long rows and private loges. A huge, glowing chandelier hangs from the ceiling in the middle of the room, decorated with small golden statues matching the rest of the theatre’s loaded ornamentation. This cumulus of decoration, lights and scenography would seem too much in any other place and in any other situation, but in the theatre it doesn’t feel overwhelming at all. Everything looks like it belongs there, and as you make your way down the stairs to the front row of seats you can hear other people make comments under their breaths with the same realization you’re having. Everyone seems impressed and delighted to be here, and you’re glad you reunited the valor to come as well.

When you finally reach the front row there’s a few people already occupying some of the seats, and you only have to walk past a couple of them to reach your place and sit down as well, now feeling your stomach tingle with the anticipation of what’s about to happen. A look to your right and a look to your left reveal that Gérard is nowhere to be seen, and the realization makes you instantly start to worry. What if he doesn’t come? That would destroy Amèlie, you’re certain. In order to calm your thoughts you recur to your phone, starting to fidget with it and check every single thing you possibly can to keep your thoughts occupied.

Just a few moments later you feel a firm hand on your shoulder that draws your attention. You feel the relief overrun you when you see Gérard, and immediately stand up to politely greet him.

“Wow, Angela, you look…”

“Not like a doctor?” You decide to save him when you notice the man clearly doesn’t know where to go with his own sentence. He laughs.

“Yes. But you also look amazing. I didn’t know your closet consisted of anything beyond medical gowns and white coats.”

“You’d be surprised.” You laugh off at his comment sitting again.

Amèlie’s husband does the same and takes his seat next to you, rubbing his hands together and looking at the stage with a wide smile.

“I can’t wait to see her. “ He says, his expression immediately changing to a more worried one. “I don’t get to come often, you know?” He tells you, turning his head to the side to look at you. You nod. “Because of work, I’m sure you out of all people understand, right?”

Gérard’s eyes are begging you for some kind of answer, so once again you decide to nod. Still, there’s no words of comfort you can offer him when you’ve heard his wife tell you about how selfish and inattentive he can be when it comes to things she enjoys.

“Amèlie doesn’t get that.” He explains. It looks like he need to get whatever he’s trying to tell you off his chest, so you let him continue. “She lives for her ballet but you and me, we live for our work.”

Once again he looks at you, like waiting for a response. You open your mouth, trying to come up with something.

“Maybe it’s not just the ballet.” You say. “Maybe she just feels like you are prioritizing work before her. She’s hurt.” You feel like a complete hypocrite saying this considering this is the same reason that has ended your relationships in the past, as well as kept you from beginning new ones. But Gérard’s head must be hard as a rock if he hasn’t noticed by now that Amèlie doesn’t just want him to be in the same room as her. She wants him to pay attention to her, to ask her how her day went, to worry about what’s on her mind… You worry about what’s on her mind.

“Did she tell you that?” The man asks in the same instant almost all of the lights in the room turn off. There are spotlights on the stage right in front of you so you can still see his face, but he’s no longer looking at you.

The long beautiful curtains slowly retreat to reveal a man and a woman sitting in front of a table as well as two tall women standing on both sides of the stage. Your eyes scan the whole area looking for Amèlie, but they can’t find her. The first woman dressed in a dark long gown stands up and walks towards the audience as the other two characters fall into a comedic fight. This has to be interrupted by the man that was previously sitting when the curtains retreated, but as soon as he intervenes both women turn to him their argument.

That’s when Amèlie finally joins the scene, dressed in worn out ripped clothes that look like a princess’ gown on her slender figure. She embraces the man, but is quickly pushed away by the rest of the women who point and laugh at her.

After a few more interactions everyone except for Cinderella, that is to say Amèlie, leaves the stage. She then slowly stands up from where she had fallen on the floor, gracefully dancing her way to grab a broom and then moving from one side of the stage to the other with the naturalness of someone that’s done this a thousand times. This is clearly where she wants to be, you can tell because you’ve never seen this side of Amèlie even after months of close friendship. She looks like she belongs there. Someone on your right whispers something and makes you turn your head and send them a look of disapproval, like interrupting what’s happening onstage is the greatest felony one could commit.  
You then turn to your left to see Gérard staring in awe at her wife. His lips are slightly parted and corners turned up just enough for you to notice it. He’s clearly spellbound by what he’s seeing, and in that exact moment there’s no doubt in your mind he is completely infatuated and blown away by Amèlie. You can tell because that’s the exact same way you feel when you look at her. Only you’re not her husband, and that’s not how things should be.

Finally after an hour of waiting Cinderella’s transformation takes place and Amèlie steps into the stage once more this time in a short pompous white gown full of tulle that makes her legs look infinite. She looked gorgeous before but now she looks glorious; a big smile plastered on her face as she makes her way to the front of the stage. Soon enough the prince comes by and both of them start dancing as the rest of the company retreats and gives them the spotlight.

Once more you turn towards Gérard to see his expression, knowing that seeing the adoring look on his face will deeply hurt you, but all you see is the side of his head that’s tilted forward as he types on his phone. You frown, almost offended. You can’t say anything since by the time you open your mouth he’s bringing the phone to his hear and signaling at you an apology (like you’re the one that needs one) and then leaving the theater.

Many heads turn towards him as he makes his way out through the main aisle, but not yours. You’re looking at Amèlie and waiting for a reaction that never comes. You know she’s seen him leave, there’s no way she hasn’t. But still there’s that big smile on her face as the prince makes her spin and raises her slim body over his head… One look. That’s all she gives Gérard as he walks out of the theatre before being placed on the floor and grabbing her partner’s hand to keep dancing. You’re not sure you’d be able to maintain your composure that well in her position, and it makes you admire her and pity her in equal parts.

You’re sure the reason she can maintain that façade so easily is because she’s experienced that kind of disappointment plenty of times before. Enough to make her master it, at least.

Time flies as you watch Amèlie’s gorgeous figure dancing around the stage, and finally after what you only realize is another hour when looking at your wristwatch, the performance is over. People stand up and elegantly applaud, but some people on the front row that clearly are either family or close friends of the performers loudly cheer and yell words of appreciation. You find yourself smiling and even crying a little as the bows begin.

During Amèlie’s turn she looks at you, brings a hand to her lips and sends you a kiss accompanied by a kiss. You can almost feel the pulse on your cheeks, that’s how much you blush in that moment.

Even when the performers slowly leave the stage and the curtains start covering the scene once more, people still clap and chat about the show. Your cheeks hurt from smiling, so you bring both hands to the sides of your face to touch them. Looking around you realize Gérard hasn’t come back, and that effectively wipes the smile entirely from your face. What are you going to tell Amèlie now? She’ll be infuriated. Or even worse, she’ll be inconsolably sad.

The dancer had previously given you and Gérard instructions on how to reach her backstage once the ballet ended, so you immediately gather your purse and start walking towards the corridor she had mentioned you should follow to go meet her. It’s clear you’ve arrived when you reach a room full of flowers and excited voices, with people hugging and laughing everyone. The scene warms your heart; this is a side of this kind of performances you’ve never seen before. People are crying and laughing at the same time, but there’s no trace of Amèlie anywhere in that room.

You only spend a couple minutes looking around, moving between all the candid scenes the room is hosting, before deciding she’s definitely not here. You ask yourself if maybe you got the instructions wrong, but no, this is clearly where you and Gérard were supposed to meet Amèlie… but where is she then?

In any other scenario you would’ve given up and left, simply resigning to sending her a text and then going back home to an empty apartment and an empty fridge. You’re still on time to order some takeout and you can spend the rest of the night working to forget that loving look on Gérard’s eyes while he looked at Amèlie dance.

But you can’t. At least not when you know Amèlie must be alone right now, wherever she is. She has told you herself she doesn’t have any other friends, and it’s pretty obvious her husband isn’t coming back any time soon. How could you leave her on a moment like this? What kind of friend would you be? You decide to use that thought as an excuse for your fixation on finding her.

Luckily aside from the room you just left and another one full of props, the backstage of the theatre is not too big. At least not big enough to keep you from finding the French woman in a dark alley after finding the back door that leads you out of the building. She’s simply standing there, still wearing her short white gown. The makeup on her face is a mess now that she has sweated it off, but nonetheless she still looks stunning, even under the faint yellow illumination the streetlights provide. You’d think Amèlie would look out of place in a dark alley like this, but like anywhere else she manages to look like she owns the pace. Her presence there reminds you of that of a cat; quiet, elegant and always alert.

You know for sure she has noticed you since the door you came through is terribly loud, but she doesn’t do or say anything until you’ve closed it at your back.

“I thought you’d never come.” She says finally looking at you only with her eyes, keeping her head slightly tilted forward. There’s a small smile slightly curving her lips, and even though a few months ago you would’ve believed it to be genuine you’ve come to recognize Amèlie’s ability to express emotions she isn’t actually feeling. You thought she stopped doing that around you a while ago.

“I didn’t know where to find you.” You stay in silence for a moment, and Amèlie waits. “I’m sorry.” You add, not sure what part of the night you’re exactly sorry about.

“Why would you apologize? It’s not your fault.” You’re not sure of what exactly isn’t your fault; the fact that you couldn’t find her or Gérard’s walkout in such a crucial moment. You don’t answer, but apparently Amèlie wasn’t expecting you to because she keeps talking. “Anyway, how was I?” She asks then, moving away from the wall to walk towards you, arms crossed over her chest.

“Amazing.” You reply instantly, taking in a deep breath. With all the searching and thinking you’d almost forgotten about the performance and all the words of admiration you were ready to give Amèlie once you found her. “It’s… I’m… I’ve never been to a ballet before, I already told you, but… that was incredible, you looked like a star Amèlie.”

She clearly enjoys your answer, for now you can see another smile forming on her lips. A genuine one this time.

“You always only have kind words for me, Angela. Thank you.”

“I’m being serious. I couldn’t stop looking at you-”

“You couldn’t?” The French woman cuts you, apparently more interested in digging into that last comment you just made than whatever else you wanted to say. You wait for a moment to see if she will add anything, but she’s still waiting for your response.

“No.” You finally reply while clearing your throat. You look down at your feet for a moment and then back up into her bright brown eyes. Now that she’s closer you can see the smudged eyeliner and splotchy face paint on her face even more clearly than before. It almost makes you angry that she manages to make that disaster her makeup has become look good.

There’s a few more seconds of silence between you two, during which you confront yourself in an internal battle trying to decide whether you should mention Gérard at all or leave things as they are. Bringing it up will clearly ruin the mood, but it feels like you must at least address the elephant in the room to be able to give her some kind of comfort.

Before you can make a decision Amèlie complains with a groan, leaning forward to take off her pointe shoes to reveal almost completely red and blue feet. Your medical instinct instantly clicks and you kneel in front of her, moving your hands slowly to grab her by the ankle and take a look at her left foot. She doesn’t move and you take this as your cue to grab her foot and slowly move it from front to back and then slightly to the side.

“This is awful…” You whisper as Amèlie lets out a whimper when you turn her foot a little to the left. “For how long have you been dancing?”

Your question makes her laugh, and you look up at her from your position kneeled on the ground.

“Since I was a child. I wouldn’t be surprised if my parents told me I learned how to dance before I learned how to walk, honestly.”

She carefully puts both hands on your shoulders to maintain her balance as she removes her foot from your hand. You instantly let go. Slowly, the woman kneels so you’re both facing each other. Your faces are now at the same height, unlike when you’re standing, and now the close distance between you compels you to stare into her eyes.

“Thank you for taking care of me.” She finally says, using her hand to move a strand of blond hair that managed to escape the tight bun it was trapped on behind your ear. You lick your lips almost unconsciously and swallow.

“It’s what I’m best at.” You reply in quietly, almost whispering, as if speaking too loud would ruin the moment. Her hand has already moved the hair away from your face, but it’s still there on the back of your neck. You can feel her finger move from the top of your nape down following your spine. You swallow again. You need to say it. “I’m really sorry about Gérard…”

“Don’t.” She instantly replies, her hand stopping instantly. The harsh way she had to pronounce that word keeps you from saying anything further. You just wait. “Don’t be.” She finally continues now using her hands to grab yours. “We’ve been married for ten years and he’s come to… what, two of my shows?” She shakes her head, still firmly grabbing you. You couldn’t speak even if you wanted to. “I’d rather enjoy the rest of the night with someone that I know won’t abandon me when someone calls her on the phone. Forget Gérard, forget everyone.” Before her next words, Amèlie brings your hands to her lips and places a light kiss on top of them. “This night there’s only you and me. Okay?”

“Okay.” You say trying to conceal your ragged breath. If you were confused before, right you you’re an absolute mess. Your thoughts are everywhere, a collection of limits you’ve given yourself that her words are making you reconsider. What does she even mean by that? It’s something you hate and love about Amèlie, how hard her intentions are to read. You feel more confused and gay than ever.

Amèlie drags you by your hands when she stands up, making you do the same. Immediately the woman takes a step back and looks you up and down with a renovated smile on her face.

“Well, you look amazing, I’m sorry I didn’t say it before. I’m glad you didn’t come up the stage, I wouldn’t want anyone stealing my spotlight.”

“Oh, please.” Her words immediately lighten the mood and you even let out a short laugh, using the one hand she has freed to cover your lips. “Don’t be stupid.” Is she flirting with you just now? As you ask yourself this, your eyes catch a glimpse of her wedding ring and your smile immediately begins fading.

“I’m not.” She adds still smiling, clearly amused by your reaction. “I just need to know… where are you keeping the stethoscope? I can’t believe you left the headquarters for something other than work.”

You roll your eyes, knowing you can’t tell her there’s no justification for her to think that way. “C’mon I go out every once in a while… like on missions, and stuff.”

“You know that doesn’t count.”

“I know.” You reply immediately, slightly nodding with your head. “It’s just… I didn’t have anyone to go out with.”

“I didn’t have anyone either. But now you have me, and I have you. I guess that leaves us no excuse, right?”

“I guess so.”

Then Amèlie hugs you. You’re not sure if she’s doing it because she genuinely wants to, or because the thought of Gérard leaving the theatre still haunts her, but you decide you don’t care anymore. You hug her back, tightly. She smells like sweat and her arms are sticky but there’s not a thing you would change about the moment you’re sharing right now.  
The seconds go by but none of you let go of each other. You tighten your embrace, trying to tell her everything you can’t say out loud: thank you. For the company, the compliments, the laughs. The secrets, the admiration. The emotion. You want her to know all of it, but you can’t tell her. You want her to know you love her.

“Stay with me.” She whispers in your ear, her nails digging into your shoulders. Your heart beats so fast for a moment you think Amèlie will feel your heartbeat on her chest.  
You don’t know if she means right now, tonight or forever, but you don’t care. From that comfortable position you place a small, loving kiss on her neck as an answer.

The euphoria only lasts for a few seconds, immediately followed by a cold feeling running through your body. You feel guilty as soon as you realize the reality of the situation. What if you’ve gone too far? The sad truth is that you’re willing to take anything Amèlie can or wants to give you, but you’re scared to do the same.

“I’m sorry.” You apologize for the millionth time tonight, letting go of her and looking down in something like shame, somehow scared of her reaction.

The dancer moves her hand from your shoulder, lightly stroking all the way through your arm until she can grab your hand and then caress it.

"You know what? I think we should make a tradition out of this." Is all she replies. You frown, waiting for her to explain. "Meeting here. I like it. It's private, I feel like I can be me. I can do anything. That's how I feel when I'm with you."

"So... you want us to meet in a dark alley as a tradition?" You add jokingly, trying not to think too much about what she's saying.

"You really make it sound bad." She sighs at your statement and shows you her pinky. "Let's promise. Here and now. Every year. 16th of April. This alley. You can't let me down." You look at her finger, confused but tempted to accept. She's asking you for a long term commitment, even if it sounds harmless right now, you know the potential this has to hurt you. She raises her eyebrows, waiting for your response.

"Okay." You say grabbing her pinky with yours, but Amèlie doesn't seem satisfied.

"I didn't believe that for a second."

"I give you my word." You say a little too loud, tilting your head backwards as if you were yelling in despair. Amèlie laughs and you laugh with her as she grabs your arm and rests her forehead on your shoulder for a moment. You savour it, trying to see the good in the situation. You've agreed to meet this woman you're absolutely infatuated with every year, it feels like that's the closest to a relationship you could ever be with her. Still, keeping in mind that this woman you love so much married makes you consider if the promise you just made is a blessing or a curse.

“Do you want to do something stupid?” She asks when she raises her head, with a fierce and playful smile on her face. You’re not sure what she’s insinuating, it can’t possibly be what it seems… but even with that doubt in your mind you simply say yes. You couldn’t tell Amèlie no even if you wanted to. And, to be honest, you don’t want to anyway, whatever her words imply.

Your response is her cue to take your hand and lead you towards the entrance of the theatre once again. The door is locked, since you’ve spent enough time out there for the theatre to be evacuated and closed. But you’re sure Amèlie already knew this.

With the confidence of someone who’s done this before, the woman takes two bobby pins out of her hair and leans towards the door getting them into the lock. You are left with your mouth wide open as you realize what she’s trying to do.

“So we’re trespassing now?”

“Shh. Just keep an eye on the street and don’t be a buzzkill, doctor.”

You feel twelve being coerced into doing something bad by being called a buzzkill, but it works nonetheless. You nervously move your weight from one foot to the other as you watch the other side of the ally, but luckily it only takes Amèlie a couple seconds to get the door open. She walks in and so do you.

Every single light inside the theatre is turned off except for the emergency ones, which show a path from the backdoor to the main one. You follow it, grabbing your friend’s hand as she leads the way. In one point she stops following the lights and turns to the left, and even if your mind and heart are racing at the thought of being caught you decide not to say something. You trust her.

You almost trip as you reach a set of steps, which makes Amèlie giggle. You are too nervous to feel embarrassed so with no further comment you follow the French woman up the stairs and into the main stage. She then asks you to stay there for a moment and leaves, which only makes you more nervous. Only a few seconds of waiting and suddenly the lights on top of you turn of making you jump, scared. Amèlie soon joins the scene though, laughing again with a hand on her belly.

“Relax, Angela, no one is here.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“I’m not. But would you rather be scared or enjoy this moment?”

“Poetic.” You add with a sigh. “Touché.”

Unable to erase that smile from her face, Amèlie approaches you and carefully removes the tiara from the top of her head. She then proceeds to put it on you, and takes you hand to make you twirl. You try and do so in the most elegant way you can, which is, not very. She still seems impressed when you look back at her, whereas you just look embarrassed. Still, you laugh.

“Well?” She asks, moving her hand to gesture towards the rows of seats in front of you. “What do you think?”

“I think I’m completely out of place.” You reply, turning your head to watch the amazing view. You feel self-conscious even though every single seat is empty… how does Amèlie come up here and perform with such artlessness?

The woman turns her head to look at your stunned impression. You can tell she doesn’t relate by the look on her face; she’s probably been dancing from stage to stage since she was a little girl.

“Really? I don’t think you’re out of place at all. I think you are exactly where you belong, in the stage and not between the audience. It’s a shame the little recognition you get for your work.” She sounds almost resentful. “I admire how loyal you are to your work, even when you don’t get the attention you deserve for what you do. I’m not sure I would be able do the same, honestly. Being the hero in the dark and all of that.”

“Thank you.” You reply with your voice full of honesty and pride. It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say this is the first time you accept one of her compliments. There’s now a big smile on your face you can’t control. “But being on the other side also has its perks like… some privacy, for example. I love my work, I can’t help it. But since I’ve met you I’ve realized maybe I am too addicted to it, but I’m a lost case at this point.” You laugh, shrugging.

“We’re all lost cases in one way or another. Don’t worry, I’ll keep dragging you out of your apartment for as long as you let me.” Amèlie adds before moving away from you and going down the set of stairs that leads to the audience’s seats. She runs her hand through them before deciding to take a seat on the third row, looking at the stage.  
You’ve started following her and now you sit by her side.

“It feels really weird to see the stage from here, so empty… It’s hard to believe that that’s where I was dancing just a couple hours ago.” She whispers, as if talking too loud would break the spell of the moment. You agree, so you do the same.

“It didn’t feel weird to see you on it.” You reply, your eyes fixated on the stage even when you can see her head turning to look at you. “You looked so at home, I’ve never seen you so liberated in all the months we’ve been friends. I mean, everyone looked amazing, the whole ballet was beautiful but you… you looked gorgeous. It was like magic.” You finally get the courage to speak your mind, almost forgetting Amèlie was next to you.

When you turn to face the dancer she’s not looking at your eyes, but your lips, and when she leans in and you don’t move away, she kisses you.

You’ve fantasized about this moment for so long that you find it hard to believe it’s actually happening. You’ve spent so many long lonely nights thinking about how this; Amèlie kissing you, Amèlie caressing your face, Amèlie grabbing your waist, Amèlie wanting you. You can’t say the seats of an empty theatre is where you thought it would happen, but then again you didn’t think this would ever happen.

Her lips are soft and sweet but her hands are rough and mischievous. Everything about her is so delicate and incredibly warm that you can’t find the strength to care about anything else. Not the fact that you’re in a public place, not even the knowledge that she has a husband can stop you as she caresses your thigh and bites your lower lip, then your chin, the line of your jaw and then your neck. You close your eyes and give yourself to Amèlie, for a moment letting yourself believe that this isn’t too good to be true. That you need this. That you deserve this.

That’s the first night you and Amèlie spend together, but it’s by far not the last. You start meeting way more often than before, and when Gérard leaves for a mission you pay her company even in their home, in their own bedroom. You know it’s not right, and you know you shouldn’t be doing this, but you can’t bring yourself tell the woman no. You feel like you’re living in a dream when you spend time with her, the feeling you get when you see her now is so unreal that going back to the way things used to be is not even a viable choice in your head.

Of course you feel the guilt, some times more than others, but it’s never enough to make you want to stop what you and Amèlie have. You don’t think anything would ever be enough to make you want to stop.

That is, until the accident.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! Hope you enjoyed that. Thank you so much for your support and especially for the kind comments on the previous chapter, they make me so happy!!!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Blood and violence and all that STUFF just a lil bit but you know, just in case
> 
> strap in bois this hurt me more than it'll hurt you believe me

If you knew what was going to happen, you would have never thought of leaving your apartment that evening.

Gérard is a great cook. He has always been. Since you met him when you were both teenagers, his cooking skills have always managed to impress you. You have a very restrictive diet just like many professional ballet dancers do and he has always done everything in his power to make sure you eat well and enough. That’s one of the many things you like about your relationship with your husband; you can’t really take care of yourselves but you do a great job taking care of each other.  
That’s why after leaving you alone at home for the whole week (you weren’t really alone, Angela paid you company almost every day of the week, but Gérard doesn’t need to know about that) he offers to prepare whatever you want for dinner as long as you go get the food yourself. There’s no need for him to try to convince you; immediately after hearing him say this you grab your keys and leave the apartment to buy everything he will need to prepare your food for the night. It’s getting late and you’re worried the nearest grocery store will be closed if you don’t hurry up.

You have taken that same route many times before, only normally during daytime. Now as the sun comes down you walk the already quiet streets that lead you to the supermarket and, by the time you come out, everything is dark. You should’ve realized, you shouldn’t have taken the back street to get home faster. You’re not easily scared, but some caution on a moment like that could’ve completely changed the night’s events.

You haven’t ever regretted anything as much as you regret taking that backstreet.

Maybe it’s because you’re looking at your phone, or maybe it’s because your brain doesn’t want to believe you could be in danger while you’re in such a vulnerable position, but you don’t notice how empty the streets are until you hear car wheels rolling on the pavement. This doesn’t worry you too much per se, but the sudden, harsh braking you hear afterwards does.

You turn your head, holding your bag of groceries in your arms, to see the vehicle is a black van that’s now stopped as two people get out. Maybe you do it on purpose, maybe it’s a subconscious action, but you start walking faster as soon as you look forward again, a rush of adrenaline running through your body. You keep your eyes in front of you just for a moment before turning around, when you can see three men already pretty close to you running in your direction.

Immediately your instinct tells you to drop everything and start running, so that’s what you do. You also decide to throw your purse to the side in case that’s what they want, but you’ve figured out by now this was premeditated and money is not exactly what they want.

They get to you before you can even scream for help, and as much as you try to tussle you still end up being dragged to that black van, completely helpless and terrified, clueless about what’s going to happen to you.

***

You don’t remember passing out, but eventually you wake up what you can only assume is hours later laying in a cold metal surface. You blink a couple of times, trying to remember what just happened. There were groceries involved, a van, those men…  
It doesn’t take long for you to regain your memories about what brought you here, and as soon as the realization hits you you try to stand up. You’re immediately jerked back against the cold metal by the leather shackles on your wrists and ankles, which you hadn’t even realized were constricting your body.

Now that you start looking around, you realize you also hadn’t noticed the IV line connected to your arm. You’re not sure if it’s injecting you with something or if it’s taking something out of you.

Trying to get out of you bindings seems futile, but it doesn’t keep you from trying. You wiggle your arm, and then try to reach the other one. A growl escapes your lips as you realize there’s no way you will ever manage to reach that IV line, and your head falls flat against that cold surface again, eyes closed.

Your hope starts to vanish and you get a heavy feeling on your chest, now overcame by panic, and slowly it starts to get hard to breathe. You look around, trying to see if you can recognize anything in the room. There’s no one there with you and aside from a couple gadgets you can kind of recognize from your visits to the doctor, but most of the equipment in the room is completely foreign to you.

You haven’t been able to do much looking around a group of three men enter the room, startling you. They are all wearing the exact same medical gown, and even as you try to get up and pull your arms and legs out of the shackles they don’t even acknowledge your presence. They just look past you, studying the screen next to your cold bed that seems to be monitoring something via some cables that look to be taped to your temples.

“Hello?” You finally manage to weakly ask. No response.

“Who are you?” No response. “Where am I?” They don’t even look at you. You’re not sure if getting an answer would’ve made you feel calmer or more nervous, but right now you are on the verge of tears. You feel even more alone than when there was no one else in the room. They treat you like you’re not even a person; just the subject of an experiment. And that may be the case, for all you know.

Eventually more people enter and leave the room, looking at different screens and paper documents on the tables around the room. None of them acknowledge your presence. After a few minutes of looking around and talking to each other (you can barely understand anything they’re saying, since all they do is whisper and even when you catch a word you don’t understand what it means) all of them end up exiting the room and closing the door, leaving you alone once again.

Now that your survival instinct has completely kicked in you stop looking around to see if you know where you are, and instead start to look for a way to escape. There are scalpels and other sharp object in the room, but even if you managed to get to them, which seems impossible, there’s no way you’d be able to cut the leather shackles on your wrists or feet with them. You can barely move your hands given how you’re tied up, let alone manage to do a simple task like cutting something.

Your brain starts running out of ideas just as the door opens once again. You turn your head towards the entrance and this time the person you see looks nothing like the other people that were just entering and leaving the room. The woman that stands there is not wearing the same clothes, and while the other men looked like they were there to work the look on her face makes it look like she’s here to enjoy herself. You gulp.

“Good evening miss Lacroix.” The redhead says, grabbing a piece of paper from a table near where you, without ever moving her eyes away from your face. How does she know your name? You had your ID on you, that’s probably why she knows.  
She has a wickedly calm smile in her face, and finally her eyes avert to the paper. You can see a small writing on her medical gown that reads ‘Doctor O'Deorain’. She’s been the first person to talk to you, and you’re not sure if it’s supposed to make you feel better. It doesn’t.

“You don’t know who you’re dealing with.” You tell her, knowing that threats are going to get you nowhere. Still, you’re desperate. “Do you know who my husband is?”

“I do, actually. I’m afraid he’s the reason you’re here.” She cuts you off before you can keep talking. Even in this situation, you feel offended by her lack of respect towards you.

“Then you must know there are people looking for me right now, as we speak.” Your eyes follow the doctor’s movements as she leaves the paper on the table again to quickly write something on it. She then reaches into her pocket and pulls out what looks like a pair of latex gloves. “It’s a matter of time before someone finds me.”

“Then I guess we should get started, right?” O’Deorain says as she puts on one of the gloves, pulling the elastic band on its end and letting it go, making a distinctive sound. “We don’t want to run out of time.”

The rest of the day after that is just a big blur in your memory.

You remember losing sight of the doctor, as you were unable to turn your head to follow her movements. You also remember seeing a weird purple-ish liquid drop from the IV line into your bloodstream, and the dizzy feeling that came next. Clicking sounds were all you could hear before your temples started to hurt, like someone was holding a flame really close to both sides of your face. The pressure on your chest kept growing and growing until it was almost unbearable. Your arms, back, neck, jaw… everything started to hurt so much it was hard for you breathe.

You remember wanting to puke, feeling the bile reach your throat and come back down. You also remember screaming, but not feeling like the noise was coming out of your body. It felt like listening to someone else... Maybe it was part of the shock, maybe part of your defense mechanism, or maybe it was just your brain trying to keep you from going insane.

The sweat dripping down your forehead and into your eyes made it difficult to see, but even then you could perfectly distinguish the wide, terrifying smile from the doctor as she looked down on you. She looked entertained, almost amused by what she was seeing. Which was, of course, your scared, screaming, squirming body.

Moments after that, you pass out again.

\---

You throw your phone in the passenger’s seat as soon as you manage to open your car’s door, task not so easy when a person is as nervous as you are right now, the words of the message you just received still flashing on its screen:  
‘We found her. She’s alive.’

We found her… That’s it? It seemed impossible, surreal. After so many days anger, confusion, fear… she’s back. You need to know what happened, why she left or who took her. How did they find her? Where? All you know for now is that she has been assigned to Moira, the new doctor. Her work is usually limited to everything Blackwatch related, but since she seemed to be the only doctor on the headquarters when Amèlie arrived she's been the one taking care of her. The one night you decide to go home instead of staying late to work...

It’s hard to drive under so much stress, but you try your best to get there as soon as possible. Red lights mean very little when your lover has been found after being reported missing for days.

Wisely, no one tries to step in your way once you walk in through the doors of the Overwatch headquarters. You run your way through busy corridors, ignoring the people calling your name as you make your way past them, until you reach the main medical wing.

A quick talk with the receptionist in charge lets you know what room she’s in, and you can’t believe how close you are to finally seeing the woman again. Every day you spent not knowing where or how Amèlie was felt like a whole year. And the few minutes that are keeping you from seeing her now feel like hours as well.

Of course, it couldn’t be that easy. Nothing is ever that easy for you. You’ve finally reached the door to her room, and as you reach out to open the door with your card key, someone grabs your wrist to stop you from doing so. Angry and annoyed you turn your head to the right to find Reyes is the person keeping you from entering the room to finally meet Amèlie, after so many days of waiting. She seems so close and so far at the same time right now.

“Can I help you?”

“Her husband’s in there. It’s not a good moment.” The man replies, softly but firmly. However, you’re not ready to give up just yet.

“I’m a doctor. Her entire family could be in there for all I care, it doesn’t change anything. Now, if you’ll excuse me…”

“Angela.” He mutters, clearly annoyed at your attitude. You like to think Gabriel and you share a close unspoken friendship, but right now he’s getting on your nerves as much as you’re getting on his. “It’s clearly a private moment. I’m perfectly aware you’re a doctor, but Jesus, he just got his wife back. He thought she was dead. You don’t really fit into the picture right now, do you?”

He doesn’t know about Amèlie and you, you know that. That’s not why he made that comment. But that doesn’t take any pain away when you hear those words. You feel like someone stabbed you directly in the chest, and you need to fight the urge to break down in tears right there in that moment. For better or for worse, you’ve spent enough time with Gabriel for him to notice this immediate change in your behavior. He puts one arm out to put a hand on your shoulder, but you quickly slap it away.

“I lost her too, you know?” You finally manage to say, feeling your nose get clogged up and your eyes fill with tears. “I thought she was dead too. I don’t even know if I’m ready to see her again.” You continue, now whispering. Partly because you don’t want anyone else to hear you, partly because suddenly all your strength has left your body.

With your face buried in your hands, you now allow Reyes to grab you by the arm and carefully lead you to the nearest waiting room. He asks no questions as you take a seat and try to stop sobbing, still hiding your face. You have mixed feelings about the lack of feedback from Gabe; you don’t want him to start asking questions about your weird behavior, but this silence makes you feel like you’re guilty of something. Which, of course, you are.

“I wasn’t trying to-“

“I know.” You interrupt him as soon as he starts speaking, finally raising your head and wiping away the tears from your eyes using your hands. “I’m fine, okay? Everything’s okay.”

He simply nods and looks down while scratching the back of his neck, gesture that you’ve come to realize is a nervous habit of his. Neither of you are experts on social interaction, nor do either of you enjoy it. He looks so weird just sitting there, still nodding his head, and you just want to sprint past him and get into Amèlie’s room. Just to catch a glimpse of her, to see with your own two eyes… she’s okay. You sigh.

“It’s just… I knew you were close. But I wasn’t expecting that reaction. What got you so upset? Was it something I said?”

“You were just as altered when Jack came back hurt from a bomb after a reconnaissance mission.” You quickly defend yourself by referencing something you know Gabriel cares deeply about: Jack Morrison.

“That’s a completely different story.” 

“How so?”

“Well… first of all I was relieved he was being kept in a room while getting his treatment. You could almost touch the peace and silence on the corridors.” That comment earns a chuckle from you, as you roll your eyes. He tries to hide his own smile and fails. “But on the real, I’ve known Jack for a long time. We’re close. Of course I’d be devastated if something bad happened to him.”

“Amèlie and I are close too.” You could try to change the subject, which would be a much safer option considering the matter at hand, but now you feel personally attacked. You know he doesn’t have any bad intentions, but you’ve given too much for your relationship with Amèlie to have its importance diminished like this. You also may be feeling a little too emotional to let it go right now, honestly. “So you wanting to see Jack after an accident, but now that I want to see Amèlie I apparently ‘don’t fit in the picture’?”

“You’re making it sound bad Angela…”

“You don’t make it sound so good either.”

“I said it’s different, okay? When they brought him back I-.” He stops himself, looking away from you and to the ground. He takes a deep breath, clearly shaken by your conversation. With a firm gesture of his hands, he starts talking again. “We have a weird relationship. You wouldn’t understand.”

You laugh.

“Trust me, if there’s something I know about, that’s weird relationships.” You sigh, rubbing your eyes with the heels of your hands. Once again you lean forward, resting your elbows on your knees while keeping your eyes covered. You can’t believe you’re wasting your time here when you could be seeing Amèlie right now. Talking to her. Touching her.

It’s not after raising your head and seeing Gabe’s confused expression that you realize he hasn’t said anything for a while.

“Does that mean Amèlie and you…”

“What?”

“You know. What you said about weird relationships…”

“Oh, no! Of course not!” You look around, worried someone might be listening. Luckily, you’re alone in the room. “She’s married Gabriel, for heaven’s sake.”

“Okay, okay.” He raises his hands in surrender, still looking at you with his eyebrows raised.

“Does that mean Jack and you..?”

You can see his expression change as he realizes what you’re asking.”

“Of course not! Why would you even ask that?”

“Well, you’re the one that mentioned it! When I said that about Jack and you, so…”

“No! No, never. I would never… With Jack.” He shakes his head, now looking away from you and straight into the wall in front of him. “That’s so weird.”

“Yeah.” You try to laugh it off, slapping your knee with your hand. “Me and Amèlie… God. That’s so weird too.”

“Yeah, sure.” He chuckles, going along with what you say. But as long as he stops looking at you, a frown makes its way back into his facial expression.

And just like that, everything is silent.

You pull your own fingers, licking your lips and looking around in a desperate attempt to find something to do with your body. You could get up and leave, but would that make it seem like you’re hiding something? No, of course not, you’re over thinking it… There’s nothing wrong.

But right now you’re suspicious about his relationship with Morrison. What makes you think he’s not suspicious about you and Amèlie?

Well, he doesn’t have any proof. Also, why would he care? Yeah, he knows Gérard, but… are they even that close? But even if they aren’t, they’re still friends. You would tell your friend if his wife was cheating on him… You feel like your brain is going to explode.

“So… for how long?”

You want to play dumb. You want to say ‘how long what?’. But just looking at Gabe, you can see he knows. He knows because he too has a secret. And just by asking, he’s sharing it with you.

“I don’t know… a year?” You look down at your own hands, sweaty palms pressed together. “I haven’t even counted. There’s just before her and after her.” You decide to look up at him, and he’s looking at you not with anger or confusion, but sympathy. “You?”  
“Years. It’s been… happening almost for as long as I’ve known him.”

“Wow.”

“I know.”

And just like that, there’s silence again. It’s not the same kind of silence though. This one feels comfortable. It’s like there’s been a really heavy weight lifted off of your shoulders. Being able to just say that much, confirm Gabe’s suspicion… You feel free.  
“I mean, I know she’s married, but at least she’s not Jack, you know?”

That comment, coming from Gabe, takes you by surprise. You raise your eyebrows, looking at him as he looks back at you, probably worried that he took it to far with that joke.  
You burst out laughing.

It’s the only way your body has of expressing the mix of relief and confusion that you’re experiencing right now. There are tears again in your eyes, and you don’t even know if you’re crying or laughing.

Gabriel is now smiling as well, chuckling as you just laugh uncontrollably, and before you can thank him for everything he has done for you just now, even without knowing, the door to Amèlie’s room opens and Gérard steps out.

You immediately stand up, almost tripping on your own feet and falling to the floor in the process, which makes Gérard instantly notice you. He walks towards you with open arms and hugs you. You need a moment to process everything before reaching out and hugging him back.

You feel dirty. There’s a sour taste in your mouth as Gérard moves away from you and puts his hands on your shoulders, looking at you with a small smile and nothing but fondness in his eyes. It makes you feel even worse.

“Angela, I’m glad you’re here. I still can’t believe she’s back, I… have you heard what happened?”

“No, I haven’t had the chance, I was… Giving you some privacy.” You glance over at Gabriel, who looks back at you with a look that tells you more than any words ever could. He then stands up and puts a hand on Gérard’s shoulder.  
“Hey. I’m very glad she’s back and safe.”

The French man turns towards him and nods, a tight smile still on his face as he does so.

“Thank you, Reyes. I’m very glad too.” He replies before the other man turns around and walks away from the scene.

And with that, your only possible support is gone. Your friend and confident disappears and you’re forced to face Gérard alone. It’s the least you can do.

“Oh, sorry for keeping you here… I’m sure all you want right now is to go see her.” Gérard says putting a hand on his forehead. You heart jumps. You almost forgot why you were here for a second.

“That’s okay. Is she okay?”

“As okay as someone who has gotten kidnapped can be.” He shrugs for a moment, but his expression fails to conceal how worried he really is. “Talon got her. God knows what they did to her…” He can’t look at you in the eyes while saying this. You can tell he’s trying not to seem as angry as he is. It isn’t working.

“Hey, it’s okay.” You put a hand on his arm, trying to sound comforting. As a doctor you’ve done this a thousand times, but you’ve never felt as uncomfortable as doing it right now. “She’s okay now.”

“I know. Thank you, Angela. For everything.” He says grabbing your hand with both of his. Once again, he smiles tenderly. “I know you’ve been an amazing support for her this past year, she never stops talking about you and how much fun you have together. I’ve never gotten the chance to thank you for that, but just know I’ll never forget how much you’ve cared for my wife.”

That’s just the last straw; you can’t take his nice words any longer. You just thank him back under your breath, looking down at your feet as you feel the tears once more form in your eyes. You quickly sneak past him then, walking towards Amèlie’s room, and quickly close the door behind you once you’re in.

You try to take in as much air as possible into your lungs, still shaky from the whole situation you’ve just been through, and then let it out through your mouth. How can a person feel so many things in such a short amount of time? What is it about men that always exhausts you so much?

“Good evening, Angela.”

You feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand up as soon as her voice fills the room. Just as it happens every single time you’re in the same room, your eyes are immediately drawn to her and you’re left speechless.

She’s sitting on her bed, her legs covered by that white bed sheet that you know so much from your work on the medical wing. Her hair is pulled up in a perfect ponytail, and aside from a few marks on her neck and wrists she looks untouched. You’re very glad. You didn’t know what you were expecting to see, but even after so many years working as a doctor you’re not sure you would be ready to see the perfect and delicate Amèlie covered in wounds. It sounds terrifying.

“Amèlie.” You whisper, your voice breaking as you step away from the door and towards her. “I can’t believe you’re here. I’m so happy you’re okay.” After finally getting to her side you lean over to hug her, trying to wrap your arms around her neck. She doesn’t turn her body towards you, which makes everything way more difficult, but she does put a hand on your back. Like you would do when that annoying relative that only comes to visit on Christmas and smells like tobacco and alcohol tries to hug you. You move away.

She looks back at you with empty eyes, as her arm falls back on the bed. You can tell she’s tired, but still, her behavior makes you frown. She must notice, because only then she starts speaking again.

“I still feel dizzy from all the medicine they’re pumping into my body. How much longer will I have to stay here?”

That’s it? No ‘I’ve missed you’, no ‘I’m glad to be back’… She just asks you a medical question? You feel hurt, but still try your best not to let it show. She’s just been through a lot, she’s probably still in shock.

“I don’t know, I’m not your doctor. Maybe a couple weeks?”

“Weeks?” She sounds amazed and almost angry at you for saying that word. It’s not like it’s your choice.

“Well… of course. And even when you’re completely recovered, I’m sure they’d like to keep you here for security.”

“Security…” Amèlie scoffs. “If it’s the same security that protected me when I was kidnapped, I’m sure I’m better off just staying at home.”

You swallow. She has always been very clear about her thoughts, but this… It’s not like her to act this ungrateful, even less about this situation. Still, you keep blaming it on the shock.

“I heard it was Talon…” You mention, taking a seat next to her. “What did they do to you?” Your hands rest on the bed next to hers, in a hope she will reach out and hold them.

She doesn’t.

“I… I don’t know. I don’t remember.” Once more a frown appears on her face, as she seemingly tries to recover her memories from the last days. “All I remember is I was going out to buy groceries, and now I’m here.”

“That’s okay, it’s completely normal. Traumatic events, like what you went through, and emotions like fear can change our memories and seem to be able to alter the way we remember things. Give yourself time, you need to rest…” After contemplating it a bit too much, you decide to grab her hand with yours. “I was really worried about you, Amèlie. I really thought you were gone. I would be destroyed if something happened to you.” You finally say, happy to get that off your chest.

You’re pretty sure she already knew this, but the first thing that came to your mind after finding out she was missing was how much you wanted her to know that you couldn’t get her out of your head. She’s been all you’ve been able to think about since her disappearance, and finally you can let her know that. You let a smile curve your lips upwards, your thumb softly caressing the back of her hand as you try to make eye contact with the woman. Her eyes, however, are fixed on your hands.

“I’m glad I’m back too.” She softly whispers back as you watch her hand slip away from yours. You gulp, embarrassed for some reason now that she’s denied twice your gestures of affection. “But things need to change, Angela. I’ve realized that now.”

“What things?” You ask in a thin voice, knowing the answer but definitely not wanting to hear it.

“Us.” Now she starts making eye contact. But now you’re the one that avoids her cold gaze. “All I remember while being away, is missing Gérard. So, so much. I had enough time on my hands to realize that what we’re doing is not okay, it’s not fair to him, to you or to me. And it needs to stop.”

Is she, in a weird fucked up way, breaking up with you?

“Why now? Why here?” You start, confused as to why Amèlie thought this was the perfect opportunity to discuss such an important matter. “Why like this?”

“Why not?” She replies, clearly fazed by your lack of comprehension for her choice of wording. “I don’t know why we should drag this out any further.”

You feel like someone just stabbed you in the chest.

“Drag this out… So, you’re the one that pulled me into this...” As much as you try, it’s impossible for you to conceal the hurt in your voice. There’s too much of your feelings that goes into these words to make them sound like anything but daggers. “And after this whole year, this is how you tell me you want it to stop?” You stand up, dragging the chair you were sitting on backwards as you do. “What even am I to you, Amèlie?” It’s the third time you’re about to cry in one day. Sadly, not your record. You try to keep your voice down, but it’s pretty hard keeping in mind the subject at hand. “Is everything we went through just a game to you? You won’t even treat me like a person, not even now, at least give me a proper goodbye for fuck’s sake. If it’s not for me, at least for what we’ve shared.”

And with that you turn around and leave the room. She doesn't even call after you.

\---  
It’s taken a couple more days that it was supposed to, but finally you receive the medical discharge. It hasn’t been thanks to Angela, that’s for sure.

In fact the doctor hasn’t paid you any visits since the first one, when you told her the weird relationship you had going on needed to end. Your encounters with her are now weird blurred memories that feel like they don’t even belong to you, so obviously it was hard for you to comprehend why she was so upset. You suppose you were really close.

That doesn’t matter now.

There’s only one thing that matters right now, and that’s Gérard Lacroix. The man that now offers you his hand as you step out of the official vehicle that has brought both of you home. It took a lot of convincing for the doctor to sign your release papers, but thanks to Gérard’s position and his devotion for you and anything you ask him to do, you’re finally back home.

“Welcome back.” He whispers as you get out of the car. Does he think speaking in a normal voice tone will hurt you or something? Being treated like you could shatter into a million pieces in any moment is getting old very fast.

You still smile at him.

“Thank you.” You reply as both of you make your way towards the apartment.

Even with your memory still foggy and only one objective at hand, you still remember how much you used to hate this place. You spent years trying to make it look like a home, but it never felt like one. When you were little you dreamed of having a house with a big backyard, but of course Gérard’s job made it impossible. So for the rest of your life your fantasy remained just that; a fantasy.

The moment you set foot into the apartment your eyes travel to the keys your husband just left on a table of the entrance hall. 

Your mind immediately starts to work, trying to figure out the best way you could use the sharp end of one of them to stab your husband’s neck.

“Are you coming?”

His voice immediately draws your attention, as once more you smile and walk towards him obediently. He greets you with another smile and open arms, and you walk into them.

He kisses you. He hugs you. You follow his lead in complete silence, always with a compliant smile on your face. 

You’ve been instructed to perform one task and one task on: kill Gérard Lacroix by any means necessary and then come back to Talon’s headquarters immediately. It’s imperative that no one follows you, and you’ve been warned that he’s not an easy target. Luckily you count with the element of surprise, so as long as you wait for the perfect moment you shouldn’t have any problem getting rid of him.

“You must be starving, the medical wing’s food is awful, I’ve tasted it enough to know.” He says, leading you to the kitchen while holding your hand. There’s this small voice in the back of your head that’s begging you to stop. It asks you not to do it, but you know you don’t have a choice. You know what will happen if you don’t perform your task. They made sure you know.

“Actually…” You mutter, bringing a hand to your stomach and grimacing as he turns around to look at you, a questioning look on his face. “I’m not hungry at all. I just want to get into my bed. I’ve missed it.”

You don’t want to spend one minute more than necessary on this; you want all of it to be over so you can go back. It’s weird, pretending to be someone, feeling like the casket of a person that seems trapped into you. She won’t shut up.

Gérard looks at you, and you can tell by the way he furrows his brow that he wants to ask you to have dinner, but knows he can’t ever change your mind no matter how hard he tries. You don’t know how or why you know this, you just do. Finally he just sighs and smiles, nodding with his head.

“Okay, I guess that’s understandable. Go to bed then.”

“No.” You say as soon as he starts to let go of your hand, holding his a little too tight in the process. He seems slightly confused by your behavior, so you quickly try to recover. Your thumb caresses the back of his hand as you bring it up to your lips, kissing each one of its knuckles. “I want you to come with me.”

That makes him smile. Something tells you you should feel bad, but you don’t.

“I want to come too, but I haven’t had a good plate of food since the day you went missing Amèlie. I’m starving.” The French man adds with a low chuckle, now bringing your hands to his lips and kissing them all over. You move them away to put them on the back of his neck, bringing him towards you and pressing a very calculated kiss to his lips. His hands fall to your hips and you feel him relax as he sighs against you.

“I’ve missed you.” You purr while hugging him, your lips close to his ear as your hand rubs the short hair on the back of his head. He holds you as tight as he possibly can, and you can feel his body quiver. You wonder if he’s crying.

“I’ve missed you too, Amèlie. So much.” He says, his voice weak and shaky. “A day hasn’t passed where I haven’t thought about you, or where you were, or what was happening to you…” He’s the one that pulls back, cupping your head with his big hands. You feel small next to him. You don’t like it. You also don’t like how carefully he treats you, he’s nothing like the man Talon warned you about. “Your eyes look different, I’ve noticed.” Then Gérard stops talking for a moment and just stands there in silence looking, and after spending a few seconds pondering about it he finally asks. “What did they do to you?”

You can tell he’s been meaning to say this since the day you reunited at Overwatch’s medical wing. He probably contained himself out of respect, maybe worried about your reaction. Now that he’s gathered the courage to ask you, that small voice in your head grows louder for an instant, begging you to please tell him everything and to ask for help. It’s desperate, its words scratch every fiber of your being. But that feeling is nothing in comparison to what Talon will do to you if you don’t kill this man by the end of the night.

“Wait for me in bed.” Is all you reply, moving away from him and into the kitchen.

You don’t look back, instead you just stare at the wall in front of you while you hear him sigh and rub his face, walking away. And even then, you still wait. Just a couple minutes, until you hear him turn on the TV as some stupid random program plays. That’s when you open one of the kitchen drawers, pulling out a medium sized knife. You inspect it for just a second, running a finger through its sharp edge until you notice a small drop of blood. You bring said finger to your lips and hide the knife behind you as you make your way to Gérard once again.

The bedroom is just about ten steps away from the kitchen, but right now it feels like it’s taking you an eternity to get there. You feel your hand quiver, as you ask yourself why you’re doing this. You don’t want to do this. But you have to. You don’t really care though, you’ll just do it. But please, not this, anything but this. Please. Anyway, let’s get it over with.

The door creaks as you push it with your empty hand, revealing a scene that you assume would warm anyone’s heart. Not yours.

Your husband is laying in bed, covered by a thin white bed sheet as he watches TV. He’s already wearing his pajamas, and after your entrance his attention is immediately averted from the screen and directed to you. He smiles, and you emptily smile back.  
With the knife concealed on your back you make your way to your side of the bed, looking at the TV. You gesture towards it with your chin.

“What are you watching?”

He looks at the screen as well, and you quickly take this chance to lay next to him while hiding your weapon under the pillow.

“Just some dumb cooking show. What kind of savage would put cheese on a chicken basquaise.” He says still smiling, and then looks at you like he’s waiting for you to laugh. So you laugh. “You’re wearing that to bed?”  
You look down, glancing at the medical gown you’re still wearing. With a shrug, you look up at his face once again.

“Why not?”

He doesn’t seem to have a comeback for that one, so he just leaves you alone.

You spend the next minutes watching him watch TV, wondering if he suspects anything. If what Talon has said is true, and you don’t think they have any reason to lie to you, this is a highly trained officer that has survived many assassination attempts. Even if he seems clueless and helpless right now, you’re not willing to take any chances.

After a few moments the man decides to turn off the TV, and you’re immediately surrounded by darkness. There’s only a small lamp that’s lit on your side of the bed, but you quickly reach out to turn it off.

He lays down facing you, and you know this is the moment. His hand reaches out to touch your face, caressing your cheek. He leans in to kiss you but you don’t kiss back. Now you’re sure he’s clueless.

“I love you.” He whispers, his soft voice loud in your ears.

“I love you too.” You whisper back, staring right at him. You don’t waste another second, pulling out the knife from under the pillow and sinking it in the soft flesh of his neck.

Startled he reaches out, trying to cover his own wound. You still haven’t let go of the knife, keeping it in that exact spot for a moment while you watch him look back at you in awe. Watching the strength disappear from his eyes is terrifying and appetizing at the same time. Eventually you pull out the knife from his flesh, watching a spurt of blood shoot out of the fresh wound. In a matter of seconds his body, the bed and you are covered in the thick reddish fluid. He desperately reaches out trying to grab at anything he can, unable to speak, falling on the floor in the process. Then, he stops moving.

That’s when you hear it again. The voice in the back of your head, the one that’s been whispering to you since you can recall, it screams loud enough for you to drop your knife and cover your ears with your hands. It doesn’t help, since the noise is coming from the inside. You’ve never heard it like this, not this loud, not this close. You bend down, kneeling on the bed, and grunt in pain. It’s never made you feel like this, and for a moment you don’t think it’s ever going to stop.

But eventually it does, and that’s the last time you ever hear that voice in the back of your head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeh! So that's Moira doing all that fucked up stuff to her in Talon. It's heavily hinted she's the one that turned Amèlie into Widowmaker, and since her lore said that she was rumored to have had contact with Talon for a long time I thought, why wouldn't she work for Blackwatch AND Talon at the same time?? That way she can also keep track of Amèlie's progress when she's "found" by Overwatch.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed!!! The next chapter will take place around seven years in the future. Bye!!!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So this is happening 7 years after the last chapter, enjoy!

Just as you had initially imagined it would be that 16th of April when Amèlie asked you with eyes full of hope to make that promise, this sick tradition has ended up becoming your curse.

Every single year since that first night when you saw her perform, the same day, at the same hour, in the same place, something called for you to go wait for Amèlie on the dark alley behind that theatre. Today marks the seventh year of your progressive and pathetic downfall since your lover disappeared after murdering her husband. She left nothing behind; not an explanation, not a hint of where she was going. You tried to hate her for so long, but even then you couldn’t. At one point, you decided to be content with feeling sorry for her. That would have to do.

During the first couple of years, the rush and anticipation would take over your consciousness the days before the aforementioned date; there was a sense of hope that refused to leave your mind. Even now, you don’t think it’s gone. Not completely.

However, after seven years of inevitably making your way to that same spot only to come back to your apartment with empty hands and a broken heart, drinking until five in the morning and waking up at eight to keep working, this tradition is really started to take a toll on you. It’s like a toxic relationship; you know it’s not good for you, you know it’s slowly destroying you from the inside out, but that small rush of hope makes it feel like it’s worth the pain.

It’s not.

It’s the thought that there still may be some traces of Amèlie in Talon’s sniper, the woman known as Widowmaker, what makes you keep coming back to the same spot even after six years of complete failure. Still, you don’t want to risk it. What if the year you decide to give up is the year she finally shows up?

Still, there’s a hopeless indifference in the way you walk when you get out of your car and enter the alleyway that you already know far too well for your own liking. You take comfort in knowing it’s not such a bad habit; it gets you out of the house. You get some fresh air, even if it has to be this late at night. You haven’t taken a day off in years, so it seems this is as close as you’ll come to enjoying some time to yourself.

You come to a stop once you reach the backdoor of the theatre, resting your hand on it. It feels nostalgic, like you’re visiting a loved one’s grave. Come to think of it, it’s not that far from reality.

A quick glance at your wristwatch lets you know there’s just a couple of minutes left before the hour of your supposed meeting arrives, and as always there’s no trace of anyone there but you. You close your eyes, tilting you head backwards to face the sky.

The weather isn’t too cold; just enough for you to have to wear a trench coat on top of your medical attire. You haven’t bothered changing your clothes, especially when covering them is this easy. Already hopeless about the possibility of a successful reunion, you decide to stop thinking about work for just one moment and enjoy the comforting silence of the night instead, letting your mind travel away from this place and into nothingness. You’re not allowed to do that too often. 

***

You have no way of knowing how boring and repetitive the days used to be over at Overwatch, but what you do know is that it would be very hard for them to have been as boring as they are for you on Talon.

Fearful glances being thrown at you by your ‘co-workers’ (if you can even call them that), most of the times tinted with contempt. Constant abusive behaviors coming from your superiors, whose higher position of power over you makes them believe you belong to them. Their conviction that you’re nothing but a machine masked as a human, if you could even use that word to describe your appearance since your blue complexion makes even that hard to believe, erases any kind of decency they could think they owe you as a person. You’re just there to kill when necessary, and to follow any kind of orders given to you the rest of the time.

Of course, they’re wrong. It’s not that you lack the ability to feel or to think. Or to remember, for that matter. It’s just that there’s very few things in this world that can manage to actually make you feel something, to get a reaction out of you. One of them being… well, killing.

You’re not stupid, you know why you’re the way you are. You know you have been programmed to receive a positive stimulation every time you get a kill, and you also know it’s ‘wrong’ to kill. Murdering a helpless old woman in the middle of the street won’t make you feel any better or any worse. That rush of adrenaline only comes when you slay a target that’s been assigned to you.

If it weren’t that way, you would’ve already killed every person in the Talon headquarters long ago just for that small rush of joy.

And that’s the exact feeling you get right now when, after a perfect shot, you watch the peaceful candidate to Bern’s presidency collapse to the floor. You don’t wait for even a second more than necessary; right when his head hits the ground you flee the scene, before anyone can determine where the bullet even came from. As always, you can’t immediately go back to the headquarters; you must keep your guard up and not stop moving in case someone actually managed to trace your location. It’s better for Talon to sacrifice an agent, even if it’s their best one, than revealing their location.

What you’re not expecting when your feet hit the ground of the next rooftop in your path is to recognize one of the buildings in front of you. It’s a very elegant one, you can tell even now that all of the big signboards’ lights have been turned off… It’s a theatre. Clearly intrigued you study it’s façade, being smart enough to not reveal your position to anyone that could be walking the streets. It’s very late, but you’ve learned the hard way you can never be too sure of anything these days.  
You climb the adjacent building to the theatre, and looking down you can see that the space between them is not big enough to be called a street, but it could be considered an alleyway. You can’t be completely sure just looking at it from this height.

Kneeling on the edge of the building, looking down at the alley below, you can now feel that delicious adrenaline rush forming in your chest and moving through your body until it reaches the tips of your fingers. You move your shoulders, slightly uncomfortable for some reason, while squinting at the building now in front of you. That place feels weirdly familiar, you don’t think you’ve felt this before, it’s almost like your mind is trying to show you something buried deep inside you. You don’t really care for what it may want to show you per se, as much as for its ability to make you feel something when you do what it wants.

There’s a growing pain in your temple that you can’t keep ignoring, so you bring a hand to your head like covering will help it feel any better. Maybe the smart decision would be to turn around and leave, but since so little things manage to get your attention you decide this may be worth a shot. You use your hook to climb down the building’s wall, silent as a cat, determined to find out more not only about that alley that seems to have such a big impact on you, but also about the woman that you’ve just detected standing there completely alone.

You slide upside down, slowly, from the highest point of the building until you reach a comfortable position where you can see the woman with more clarity. She’s blonde, wearing a pretty elegant trench coat, and doesn’t appear to be older than 30. It doesn’t really match the profile of someone you’d expect to see late at night in a dark alley.  
Slow and carefully you pull up your rifle to point at her from an angle, trying to get a closer look at her features, and it’s only when you manage to do so that you realize you must know this woman. You don’t know exactly what you’ve recognized; you haven’t remembered anything new about the life of the woman that used live inside you since that first man you ever murdered, the only apex of regret you know and that you grasp like your soul depends of it. Come to think of it, it actually might depend on it.  
But that blonde hair, that place, that dirty door in that just as dirty alleyway…

More importantly, you decide to check if the woman is armed, and after looking up and down her figure with the help of your rifle you decide she doesn’t look like she has a weapon on her. Two fingers move to your helmet, pressing a button that makes it retreat back and while your eyes adjust to the dark you allow yourself to keep going down still with the help of your hook.

“What’s a helpless young lady like you doing in a dark alley like this? At the mercy of any criminal that may happen to be …” When you’re close enough to reach the ground you turn your body so you can stand on your feet, resting your rifle up on your shoulder to make sure the woman can see it once she turns around. You can’t wait to study her expression from this close a distance. “...walking by”.

Clearly startled by your sudden appearance, the other woman stumbles backwards and turns around to face you, her mouth slightly open in surprise. You watch as her expression changes from confusion to surprise, finally settling with a mix of fear and hope. That’s a weird one.

“Amèlie…” She whispers softly, petrified and pale as a ghost, her mouth still hanging open. Her eyes scan your jawline, your nose … you can tell she’s seeing her in you, and it irritates you to no end. It’s not the first time you’ve ever heard that name, of course. In fact, it has been repeated to you time after time until you’ve learned to hate it, despise it, every time you hear it you’re reminded of all the suffering you’ve had to endure because of it, because of her. But that’s not what you feel when you hear that woman say it. Her voice sends shivers down your spine, even if you don’t show it on the outside, always keeping on that perfect mask of indifference that you’ve worked so hard to perfect.

What do you know her from? What was Amèlie’s relationship with her? Why is she so incredibly... or should you say annoyingly familiar?

Once her gaze meets yours once again, you take the time to study her appearance as well; from her generally small and thin frame to the bags under her eyes, everything in this woman screams for help. She looks like she hasn’t had a good night‘s sleep in years.

As you look into her eyes, you can see her stare change into something indecipherable. Or at least it was indecipherable before the woman pulled her arm back and slapped you in the face with all her strength, finally revealing what her eyes were trying to warn you about. There are not a lot of things capable of surprising you nowadays; you don’t even get irritated anymore, nothing matters enough to you to get to that point. It’s also considerably hard to catch you by surprise, since years of training have improved your reaction time and ability to fight back way past the average human’s.

But that slap catches you with your guard down, and for just a second you don’t know how to react.

Your grasp on your rifle tightens, as you slowly move your head to face the blonde again. Moving your jaw from side to side you check for any kind of damage, and only after making sure everything is okay (you’re pretty sure she’s not strong enough to hurt you too much even if she tried), you laugh. She visibly shivers when you do.

It takes you approximately three seconds to use your free hand to grab the other woman’s wrist, stepping forward as you push her until her back slams against the wall she has behind. You hear her gasp, but it doesn’t stop you from pressing your forearm against her neck as your abdomen presses against her, locking her in that position that you know she won’t be able to escape. It doesn’t seem like she’s going to try anyway, judging by the terrified look she’s giving you now. You enjoy that frightened stare way more than the hopeful puppy eyes she was giving you just a minute ago.

Your free hand is still holding your weapon, as you haven’t even bothered using it in your small brawl as a gesture of superiority. If you can even call that quick interaction a brawl, that is. Your forearm presses even harder against her throat now as you look into her eyes from a short distance, and she looks back at you as her free hand grasps at your arm.

“Je tire mon chapeau. I’m not sure if you’re incredibly brave or just incredibly stupid. I’ve killed men in the past just for looking at me funny.”

“I am no man.” She manages to growl with the small amount of air that’s she’s able to get into her lungs. You’re making sure not to choke her, just make her uncomfortable enough not to fight back.

Her response makes you smile.

You keep that smile plastered on your face as you take the chance to give her face another close look. The more you take in her expression, the way her brows furrow, the shape of her tiny nose, the pain in your temples grows even stronger. You’re even starting to hear an annoying buzz on your left ear, as something inside you screams for you to leave. You ignore all of it as well as you can, trying to avoid reflecting in your face any of those feelings.  
The sweat ripping out of the blonde’s forehead, the redness of her cheeks… She has to open her mouth just to catch some air, and for some reason that sight is what makes it click in your brain. It feels like lightning through your body.

“Angela.” You finally mutter, more to yourself than for the other woman to hear. Your expression still hasn’t change, and you use the same tone to say her name as you’d use to say the word ‘fork’. In your mind, that name is nothing more than what a series of zeros and ones would be for a computer. A concept, a memory that’s fighting to come out, but one that’s still buried too deep inside your brain after many years of torture and repression to come out that easily.

She seems just as shocked as you are that you just said her name. Neither of you seem to know how to react, or where to go from there, but finally it’s Angela the one that breaks the silence.

“Look, I’m sorry, okay? I was expecting someone else.” She says, raising her free arm in surrender. You look at her up and down before finally letting go of her and taking a step back. She brings a hand to her neck and swallows hard, relieved that the pressure on her throat has finally been released.

Now she’s not looking at you with fear, or hope for that matter, she looks at you like you’re a zoo animal. You’re used to people looking at you that way, so you’re not too bothered about it. You simply stare right back at her, just as interested, and start walking in circles around her.

“Sorry I’m not up to the expectations.” You say, bowing at Angela with scorn as she adopts an uncomfortable stance. It’s like she’s trying to look brave by keeping her arms close to her body and her chin up, but she’s not fooling you at all. The drips of sweat on her forehead and her unstable breathing betray her.

You hear a beeping noise coming out of the blonde’s pocket, and in an automatic gesture your grip tightens around your weapon. It’s a reflex that’s saved you from more than one ugly situation, but upon realizing it’s just the other’s phone indicating that she’s received a message you relax once more.

The woman reaches to her pocket to grab it, probably also in an automatic gesture, but you stop her just by clicking your tongue. Her hand freezes midway and she looks at you once more, licking her lips. You take another step closer and put your hand on her pocket without breaking eye contact, not until you look at the phone’s screen once you’ve taken the device out of her pocket. It’s an alert about the candidate of Berne’s death. It seems like her help is required in the crime scene. What a pity.

“Oh, no. Christoph Blocher, dead?” The phone slips from your hand and to the ground as you announce the contents of the text to her. “But, who would do such a thing?” You mutter with the most theatrical voice you’re capable of.

“What…?” She asks, confused for a long moment before her brain connects the dots and she realizes what you’re implying. Her mouth falls open and she reaches down to grab her phone from the ground. All you have to do is put two fingers on her chest to stop her; you don’t even need to pusher back, just that warning is enough to keep her in place.

“Well, I’m afraid doctor Ziegler won’t make it in time for this one.” Your heel kicks the phone out of her reach, but without breaking it. “You’re not going to need that anyway. Using these things while in company is not in good taste.”

You look back over your shoulder, making sure Angela and you are still alone in that alleyway, and only after making sure there’s no one else there you remove your finger from her chest. She breathes in, like your touch was keeping her from doing any normal human function.

“Relax chèrie. I’m not here to kill you. If I was, that sad excuse of a slap would’ve been enough to end my patience.”

You turn around, not even worried about giving her your back, since the contact you’ve had so far has been enough for you to make sure she isn’t carrying any weapons. Although, after the few interactions you’ve shared so far, you’re pretty sure she wouldn’t be able to hurt you even if she wanted to.

“So.” You start, looking around at the dirty walls on both of your sides. “You knew her.” You run your finger across one of them, in a seemingly distracted but actually extremely calculated gesture. “Amèlie.” You glance at her from the corner of your eyes, watching her body react to your words. “And by the way you’ve been behaving, I don’t think I would be wrong to assume you knew her very, very well.”

“We were friends, for a while.” Angela responds, never keeping her eyes on yours for more than three seconds straight. She seems nervous. Good, she should be.  
“You know my name.” She continues, leaning to the side to rest her shoulder against the wall. Her fingers are intertwined in front of her probably trying to let you know she’s not going to attempt anything stupid. “Do you know this place?”

You’re not that good at giving information, your strong subject has actually always been quite the contrary; extorting people into speaking. However, you’re not against giving it a shot as long as Angela cooperates with you. You also haven’t had any non-work related conversation with anyone besides Sombra, and even then it’s more of her annoying you into speaking than an actual conversation. There’s no point in you ruining your first slightly meaningful encounter in seven years for nothing.  
The hand you were using to caress the wall now pushes you away from it as you turn around to walk towards Angela once again.

“I don’t know. I must know it, right? I’m here after all.” Even if you wanted to give her a fully sincere explanation on your knowledge of that place, you couldn’t. Since you don’t even know it yourself. You can see in her eyes she’s trying to analyze your words, although you’re not sure what she’s trying to find in them.

“However, it’s obvious you do know it. Why else would you be here this late at night, completely alone and without a weapon on you?” Your eyes follow her as you walk by her side, raising the hand you’re not using to hold your rifle to carefully run your fingers through a strand of her blonde hair. She raises her chin when you do so.  
You only stop walking only once you’ve reached your desired position at her back, said hand now resting on your hip.

“You must have something very important to do.”

“I can appreciate a quiet night stroll.” You’re not sure if she’s joking or just lying, but you keep quiet behind her. Her ability to joke in a situation like this... this Angela is getting more interesting by the minute. “You think I should carry a weapon?”

“I think anyone that values their life should carry a weapon around. There’s danger waiting around every corner.” You tease her, since precisely not having a weapon is what’s gotten her in this situation in the first place.

“Well…” Angela mutters, knowing you’re right. She glances back at the door that leads into the big building that got your attention earlier, and after looking at you to make sure you’re okay with what she’s doing, she walks towards it. “Why don’t we go inside?” She tries, a slightly scared but also slightly interested look in her face as she waits for your reaction. “Maybe it’ll help you.”

Help you. So now she’s trying to help you. Angela still hasn’t answered your question, and even though you weren’t expecting a clear answer in the first place, it’s frustrating. But feeling frustration is better than feeling nothing at all, so you go along with what she says.  
You realize, walking towards her once more, that she looks like a scared rabbit in the middle of the road. She doesn’t know what the next step is, but it’s clear even to her that if she doesn’t keep moving she’ll end up getting ran over.

“You know, Angela, you’re a very peculiar woman.” With a small gesture of her hand you ask her to move away from the door, and she immediately obeys. “I show up here, rifle in hand, I physically assault you, and your reaction isn’t to scream for help or beg for mercy. No. You invite me on a stroll.”

“What can I say.” She mutters, her eyes not moving away from you for even a second. Each second that passes, she seems more and more interested in you. You’re also growing more interested in her as the night goes on. “I’m a lost cause.”

You rest the heel of your boot on the lock of the door, looking back at her as she speaks. There’s a small moment where you consider stopping what you’re doing and just going back to Talon. As soon as that thought comes into your mind you force it out. That’s what they want you to think. Even if it’s not that much, you haven’t felt the amount of emotions of the last few minutes in the seven years you have of memory. There’s very little things in the world that would make you want to compromise this opportunity.

“I hope for your own good that this place is empty.” You finally say after a long pause, moving your leg back and then kicking the door. Immediately it falls open, hitting the wall on the other side and making a loud noise that reverberates on the long corridor now ahead of you.

You have a feeling it's about to be one hell of a night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah! So Widowmaker doesn't exactly remember Angela, she knows about her because she's been told about every Overwatch ex-member, and because of Amèlie's supressed memories in her brain. But she has no clue about the relationship they used to have.
> 
> I like to think once widowmaker finds some activity that makes her feel literally anything aside from indiference she is immediately drawn to it. Being treated like a weapon sounds really boring after all, I'm sure she'd look for positive or negative stimuli anywhere she could just to feel in control.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed!

**Author's Note:**

> HEY! While you're here, a comment would be appreciated, it always makes me want to write more!!!
> 
> Also; for some AMAZING mercymaker fanart go visit my gf's twitter (twitter.com/AcousticMalta) and tumblr (AcousticMalta.tumblr.com) YOU WILL NOT REGRET IT TRUST ME......
> 
> Anyway hope you enjoyed and see you soon!


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